


Void

by Apherion



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Implied Character Death, Implied Sexual Content, Implied Underage, M/M, Multi, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:20:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apherion/pseuds/Apherion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack spent the next year hoping every shadow would be Pitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Void

**Author's Note:**

> Fanfiction inspired by the song Void by Darren Hayes. I'd recommend listening to it while you're reading.

     It’s been almost fifty years since the Guardians had Pitch banished. Twenty were spent reveling in the joy of having children that believed in him. He had learned about Jamie and Sophie being his distant relatives—Jamie’s wife had the idea for him to do their genealogy. The next ten years Jack spent befriending the Nightmare King, though North, Tooth, Sandy, and Bunny discouraged him profusely. What good would come of understanding the man that nightmares were made of? Jack continued to see him and get to know him; he forgave him for the things he had done. He spent the subsequent twenty years with him and sharing his bed.

     Those years didn’t change their natures though. Pitch still frightened children and adults alike, and Jack would stay away for days at a time—untamed like the wind he controlled in addition to the water and ice.

     Twenty years of fulfilling every desire, from torturing Jack with his deepest fears to turning the entire underground lair into a winter wonderland of ice, snow, and frost; they were enough for each other.

     But it took its toll.

     Coming back after being gone for days and witnessing Pitch’s cruelty to the children only to be dragged into bed for hours of being teased and frightened and thoroughly fucked irked Jack more than relieved any of the tension he felt when he’d been gone. And he brought it up only to have Pitch counter him.

     “You’re always gone.”

     “I have to go. I’ll disappear if I don’t. You don’t always have to be scaring, especially not when you get it from me.”

     “I don’t like curbing my appetite.” Jack looked down at his bare knees, mind working over that sentence. It had been a phrase he’d heard some parents discussing in hushed tones while their children slept—and it usually led to one of them leaving.

     “And what about...this,” he gestured between them, heart fluttering in anticipation, but not the good kind. “What about us? Am I ‘curbing your appetite’?” He felt sick, scared, and naïve to not even consider the possibility of him cheating. Pitch sensed it—his fear—and sneered.

     “If that’s what you think, who am I to disprove you?” And he was gone, disappeared from the room and the lair. Jack felt his throat catch, breathing hard and seeing his breath. He felt like he had reawakened from the lake again, reliving that moment in Pitch’s noticeable absence.

     He didn’t know what to do. Should he go to look for him or stay here and wait? Were they...over? Jack’s tears froze on his face, and he collapsed on the bed.

 

***

     Jack spent the next year hoping every shadow would be Pitch.

     He’d smile when the sun would set, and he would stalk the evening, listening for anything. A scream, a wail, he even hoped to hear the whiney of a Nightmare. He followed the slightest shift or strange sound, running himself ragged as he chased the night, instead of the wind.

     The luster in his eyes was slowly dimming with every passing day, and his smile no longer reached those icy blues. The children noticed the difference, too, but they never asked. They were too polite to bring it up, and they were too young to understand. Jack was still trying though, trying to balance out surviving and _living_ ; he needed to see Pitch—even if it was just a brief glance, so he would know that he hadn’t disappeared completely.

     He never found the entrance to the lair after he was finally able to pull himself away from Pitch’s bed. It was almost as if he didn’t exist, and the other Guardians looked at it like a blessing.

     Jack took to wandering for the most part, trying to ease the pain by playing with the kids, but the fun he had with them never seemed to help. It wasn’t enough; it only sustained him for each search he went on to find him. Sometimes, he would just let the snow fall and watch them play as they cheered Jack’s name like a chant, excited for the snow day. During these times, he’d be deep in thought about what had happened between them, and he’d wrapped his arms around his knees, like he was doing now.

     He accused him when he had no reason. He got upset with him for being who he was. He knew that Pitch was like that, he knew from the moment he started to talk with him. When he told him that he remembered very little of a time before bringing fear to the people of earth, Jack wanted to help him regain those memories. He’d finally regained most of his, but it had taken him a long time—almost fifteen years.

_“I just don’t remember, Jack!”_

_“Come on, you’ve got to remember something.”_

_“Just drop it. I’m done talking about this.”_

_“But—”_

_“But nothing, Jack; go have fun, I’ll be…here.”_

     He’d seemed withdrawn when he brought up the topic, and Jack had seen his eyes look sad as he yelled at him to drop the subject. He did, and he left, but he couldn’t let it go. And he had found the necklace in a drawer of a blackened desk.

     Jack had stared at the silver locket, remembering the pain from it. That locket caused another fight between them. He had been jealous of a girl that had been dead for centuries, his _daughter_ no less, and Pitch had spent the entire night apologizing for keeping her a secret from him. It was the reason why he didn’t want to talk about his past, and afterwards, Jack felt guilty for manipulating him into giving up that information.

     The memories were fresher than his human memories, not as vague as he remembered his transgressions. Not to make Pitch out to be an angel, but in Jack’s mind—young and new to the adult experiences—he had been innocent, and Jack had mindlessly persecuted him.

     At some point during his musings, he had let his legs slip through his grip and dangle from the branch. Fingers that were tensed and bunching his trousers had gone numb, and his eyes were red around the edge, ice built up around the mottled surface. He needed something other than this. He needed _someone_.

     It seemed to be the only solution in his young mind. He’d seen that done plenty of times, people searching for comfort elsewhere when they had broken up with someone. He didn’t really understand it himself, but he could get people to believe in him now that so many already did. It would be easy to find someone.

     He rode on the wind, looking at a crowd of people. Girls huddled together, giggling as they shivered from him bringing the cold air, and guys showing brave faces and resisting to shudder. He suddenly felt self-conscious, not sure if the hoodie and trouser pants were acceptable for him to wear for this sort of ordeal as he looked at the dress of the crowd. The girls were dressed as if it could have been summer, though it was early fall, whereas the guys varied vastly. He worried his lower lip as he eventually decided on how he’d be seen, and slipped inside.

     Music assaulted his ears, and his flat, blue eyes took a moment to adjust to how _dark_ it was in the club. He slowly looked around, careful not to freeze anything unintentionally. It seemed like a place Pitch would frequent, occasional strobe lights flitting through the crowd but for the most part leaving the recesses of the room black and obscure. Jack swallowed, and he determinedly entered the mass that was on the dance floor. He just had to find one, and then leave. He wanted to find…one of those girls—already having mixed feelings about this—but that thought lost its hold when arms wrapped around his waist.

     Wait. He looked up, wide-eyed at the slightly taller person. He wasn’t sure who it was or how he—he was certain of that—could see him. The strobe flickered over his face, and Jack was intrigued that it was someone he had played with not that many years ago. Without preamble, lips covered his neck with a whisper of sweetness. “Always liked it when Jack Frost came to see me,” he whispered, hot breath against the shell of Jack’s ear.

     “I-is that so?” He asked back, coy and trying to see if he really did recognize him or not.

     “Yeah, but he was such a tease to everyone.” A pause before he added, “Did you find me to apologize?” He breathed, hands forcing his hips to grind back against his.

     “Does it matter?” He questioned instead of answering. The boy gave a purr of a laugh in his ear. He hadn’t noticed that about him. It stirred something inside him, and he was keen on knowing what it was.

     “’Course it matters, so tell me what you’re doing here, and I’ll let you know if I’ll accept the apology.” His tongue caressed over his ear before he felt his teeth biting into it. He gave an unbidden moan in respect to that, and it didn’t take long for him to ditch his friends, the excuse being that he still hadn’t finished a paper for one of his professors.

     Jack still didn’t know how he felt about this, but it’d be better than continuing a fruitless search. He had to stop sometime.

     He had to try to move on.

     It was strange, it not being Pitch—it was Dylan. He couldn’t enjoy it, constantly comparing him to how things had been done for twenty years—long than he’d been alive. He sighed as he found a comfortable spot with his rhythm, finally a sense of normalcy, but even that felt wrong. The longer he clung to the body trying so hard to make him moan, the more he realized that he needed more than just the act alone.

     He began to frequent the clubs, wanting to find someone that would fit the agenda he needed, upping the stakes of the new games he was playing with each time. Some of them really did do things how he was used to, and some were just like Dylan. Then there were the ones that had no shame, grinding into him while on the dance floor or in their lap in the dark corners.

     He even learned to ask for certain positions, certain ways to be held or tied down without being thoroughly embarrassed by each request. Sometimes, they couldn’t knot the ropes just right, or couldn’t handle the way he wanted their bodies to connect.

     But for the most part, he was content if he just focused on what was ‘right’ rather than what wasn’t. He’d tell them they were perfect, and that he loved them. He’d even see Pitch while he’d say it, and his name would come out as a whimper. It wasn’t long until that word seemed to turn to ash in his mouth, leaving an awful taste, and though each lover asked—even if he had only been with them the one evening—he never answered them, lying to the ones he saw for more than one night while the others were left with nothing at all.

     It didn’t take him long to get sick of this, too.

 

***

     It was Easter.

     Five years had passed since that first year without Pitch, and Jack was tired of looking for solace. He’d try bothering Bunny again—to see if that helped him. They hadn’t spoken in almost thirty years, the grudge of befriending Pitch still in effect.

     “Howdy, Cottontail,” he called, imitating a Texas accent in his dulled voice. The rabbit glared at him, and then made a questioning face at him.

     “Oi, what’ve you done to your hair?” He asked him. Jack raised an eyebrow at him. He hadn’t noticed it had lost its pure white color. He shook his head then, the momentarily lapse about how he was still upset with Jack gone. “What do you want, Jack? I’m busy.” And suddenly, it wasn’t about teasing the rabbit, and trying to get a rise out of him. He moved closer to him, something he thought he would never do racing through his mind, and touched his lips to Bunny’s mouth.

     Not that the situation wasn’t strange already, but Bunny pulled him in closer before he got ahold of himself. He pushed Jack away, eyes narrowing at him. “What are you doin’ mate?” He asked him, trying to look calm and collected, but Jack knew that look well now. He’d seen it plenty of times before on other people’s faces.

     “Wasn’t doing anything,” he answered casually, setting down the staff to lean against it.

     “Nah mate, you were doin’ somethin’ just now, and I want you to tell me what.” He had even pointed a boomerang at him to emphasize his point of being serious. Jack shrugged at him, maddening the rabbit further.

     “I’m pretty sure you know exactly what I was doing; you just want me to say I wasn’t doing _that_.” It would be forcing Bunny to see what happened in twenty-six years of the thirty they hadn’t spoken.

     “Jack…you sure you want to do that?”

     “I don’t see why not. I just…it’s tough being alone.” He put his hands into his pockets, ashamed slightly. He peered up at Bunny, chagrin on his face as the Guardian of Hope thought things over.

     “And you and…Pitch?” He asked because he had to know, and Jack answered because even though he still couldn’t believe it, he had to find someone that could replace him, and those countless people couldn’t even add up to filling that void.

     “Done,” he informed him, watching. Bunny scratched his chin as he thought it over, eyes darting back to Jack’s every now and then as he thought.

     “That’s why, you know. I knew you and Pitch were getting’ close and all that, and I wasn’t exactly that hopeful that you’d see the error of your ways and come back.” He muttered something else, but Jack didn’t catch the words.

     “Well, you said it yourself, Easter’s about hope and new beginnings.”

     “Heh, I did say that, didn’t I?”

     Jack followed him to the warren, not at all perturbed by being so bold to proposition him, but that new beginning became another nightmare for Jack.

     A sensitive spot that only Pitch ever found on him, Bunny had, too. Jack knew, he _knew_ it was Bunny, but a weak and pleasured name slipped past his lips that was only one syllable, not two.

     He hadn’t done it on purpose. He tried to explain that, but the betrayed look on Bunny’s face made it clear that forgiveness would be years away from this transgression.

     “He’s changed you, Jack.”

     “No he hasn’t,” he defended.

     “You’ve said his name before?” He began with disbelief and disdain coloring his tone. “To _other_ people?” He nodded weakly. “How many people, Jack? How many _men_?” Jack swallowed, heat flooding his cheeks as Bunny pressed for that information. “Prove to me it was accidental—how many people?”

     “I lost count.”

     Bunny had a comeback prepared, but it wasn’t for that. “How d’you lose…” he trailed off, eyes widening. “And you say he hasn’t changed you. He’s made you a whore.”

     “He hasn’t! It’s my fault!”

     “And he’s brain washed you, too.” Bunny’s face was pure disgust, but Jack was too keyed up to care if it was directed at him or Pitch.

     “No, Bunny, you’ve got it wrong,” he pleaded in earnest. “It was me; _I_ messed up.” He tried showing him that he was the one to blame for this, because it was his mistake. If he hadn’t questioned him like that—like he was a criminal—maybe he wouldn’t have left.

     “No mate, you’re the one that’s got it wrong, and you’ll turn into him if you keep goin’ this way.”

     “Bunny, I—”

     “Don’t Jack, just go.”

 

***

     Jack roamed aimlessly, finding it harder and harder to play with the children when he had such _adult_ issues going on inside his mind, making him conflicted about everything, making him loathe that his center was fun. He began to want none of that. He was depressed, gaining joy from nothing even as he did his best to survive.

     The children did their best, too, but even their best wasn’t good enough to help Jack.

     What did it matter anyway? He thought, tears freezing as soon as they touched his less-than-perfect, translucent skin. His hair was lank, eyes almost grey, too. Everything about Jack Frost seemed to be disappearing.

     He lay down on the lake, not knowing where else to have the wind take him, but he figured a second death here would be too bad. After all, it had a great view of the starry night sky, and the Man in the Moon could say goodbye.

     He did have one wish, but he knew somewhere deep inside him it wouldn’t come true.

     It wasn’t so bad; he lived three hundred and seventy years longer than he should have. He swallowed a thick lump in his throat as he felt one tear slide down his cheek for the first time since he became Jack Frost. He lifted a hand to inspect the tear, looking at it before gazing up.

     A smile played once more on his lips before closing his eyes.

     “Pitch.”


End file.
